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Adrenaline ripped its way through my bloodstream when he parked the truck in a public lot with the last bit of daylight and announced that we’d have to walk from here. He got out of the truck quickly and went around to the bed to lay the tailgate down and raise the cover. I made myself meet him at the back of the truck where he was placing things in two separate piles on the tailgate.
“Know how to use a gun?” He asked.
I nodded at him while he laid one on the pile closer to me, and then had another moment of panic when I realized that particular set of items was intended for me.
“Are you good with one?” He asked next.
“I don’t want to use one, but I guess I’m effective enough if I have to be.”
“Good enough for me.”
He turned to face me after that and looked my entire body up and down.
“Can I fucking help you?” I snapped, like a lunatic. Thank God he laughed.
“Get over yourself, Retirement. You’re hot, but you’re mean as fuck, you sound like a dragon when you sleep, and I’ve got my sights set pretty squarely on someone else. Arms up.”
I didn’t even move in response to whatever the fuck he just said to me. He rolled his eyes and raised both my arms directly out to my sides himself before he dropped a vest over my head and started to fasten it together down my sides.
“Jesus, that’s heavy,” I whined.
“Can’t imagine it’d do much good at stopping a bullet if it was flimsy.”
Once he had the vest fastened around me to the point that I could barely breathe, he put the gun into a holster and looked at me again.
“Right handed?”
“Yeah.”
He hooked the holster to the vest directly on top of my left breast, while I glared at him. He tugged on the holster a couple times to make sure it wasn’t going to move before he looked at my face again. He released a heavy sigh when he picked up on the look that I was giving him.
“Will you stop that? That’s where it fucking goes. I didn’t design it.”
He hooked several other items to the front of that vest before he draped a giant black jacket over my shoulders and then laughed at how it nearly reached my knees.
“Sorry,” he said. “It’s really all meant for me.”
“Great. Jersey will just love that.”
He ignored my comment and put another jacket on himself once he situated a belt and all his own shit around his waist.
“You don’t have a vest?” I asked.
“You’re wearing it.”
“Utah.”
“Don’t make it weird. Come on, we’re running out of time.”
I jumped at what sounded like fireworks way off in the distance, and Utah slammed the cover of the truck bed back down before he locked the tailgate in place.
“What was that?” I asked.
“That means we’re out of time,” he said and started to run, motioning for me to keep up.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
jersey
